Sunday, March 05, 2006
Oh, would you look at the time...
See that little "time" posted at the bottom? That indicates when I finally had my fill of the 78th Academy Awards. Didn't take long -- and I like Jon Stewart. Maybe what this Academy needs is Stephen Colbert...
Friday, March 03, 2006
My Easter Difficulties
I have difficulties with Easter. Ash Wednesday hits, and the Lenten weeks leading up to Good Friday and Easter are a torment: mood swings (rage, happiness, sorrow), vivid dreams, headaches and overall gloominess. Stigmata of the psyche, if you will.
I cannot greet Spring with much enthusiasm -- Spring has traditionally been a season of funerals for me. So, yes: the physicality of "Good" Friday is all too real. No-one's life ends happily, not even Jesus's.
Worse still, I find the resurrection problematic beyond belief. It doesn't matter if I approach it metaphorically, spiritually, or blood-and-kidneys physically -- resurrection is so removed from my existence as to be alien to me.
Not so judgement. I notice the Lectionary readings for this week include passages from Amos. If Amos and all the other biblical prophets have a central concern, it seems to be this: if you really want to piss G_D off, make a show of calling yourself G_D's people, then torture and humiliate the people you conquer in war. That's all there is to it. Even gay cowboys don't rate a mention after that.
"When they said 'repent'/I wonder what they meant" -- thank you, Leonard. Our North American democracies have elected two evangelical Christians to their highest offices. They say they read and believe the Bible. What are the odds we'll see something resembling "repentance"? (I refer, of course, to something more substantial than a muttered, "Sorry 'bout that, Jesus," before you roll over and go to sleep).
I can't find comfort in any of this. G_D's crosshairs are notoriously imprecise. Besides, I don't want a blood-and-judgement G_D; I want a resurrection G_D. I just don't know what that looks like.
I cannot greet Spring with much enthusiasm -- Spring has traditionally been a season of funerals for me. So, yes: the physicality of "Good" Friday is all too real. No-one's life ends happily, not even Jesus's.
Worse still, I find the resurrection problematic beyond belief. It doesn't matter if I approach it metaphorically, spiritually, or blood-and-kidneys physically -- resurrection is so removed from my existence as to be alien to me.
Not so judgement. I notice the Lectionary readings for this week include passages from Amos. If Amos and all the other biblical prophets have a central concern, it seems to be this: if you really want to piss G_D off, make a show of calling yourself G_D's people, then torture and humiliate the people you conquer in war. That's all there is to it. Even gay cowboys don't rate a mention after that.
"When they said 'repent'/I wonder what they meant" -- thank you, Leonard. Our North American democracies have elected two evangelical Christians to their highest offices. They say they read and believe the Bible. What are the odds we'll see something resembling "repentance"? (I refer, of course, to something more substantial than a muttered, "Sorry 'bout that, Jesus," before you roll over and go to sleep).
I can't find comfort in any of this. G_D's crosshairs are notoriously imprecise. Besides, I don't want a blood-and-judgement G_D; I want a resurrection G_D. I just don't know what that looks like.
Thursday, March 02, 2006
The Sex Pistols: Filthier and Furiouser
Is it possible to be a 40-year-old white anglo-male and not love The Sex Pistols? I think not. (Thank-you, Andrew)
Wednesday, March 01, 2006
Blast From The Past
Looks like someone's posted a vintage Jason & The Scorchers video on YouTube. Nice!
"The bizarre tale of how sober, conservative Toronto of the 60s allowed the hippie high-rise of Rochdale College into its midst."
"One thing's for certain: there'll be plenty of people who'll tell us we got it wrong."
So says Bob Nasmith, in this bit from The Toronto Star, regarding The Dream Tower. Life in Rochdale College as performance art 35 years after the fact? I have my doubts, but I'm happy to see any sort of Rochdale spin-off still in play, just because that really was such a strange and emblematic chapter of Trudeau-era Canadian history.
In the meatime, newcomers to Rochdale are advised to seek out Ron Mann's doc by the same title. My own modest (and properly confused) metaphoric summary: if you run Haight Street through Woodstock and Altamont, it will stretch north and end in a cul-de-sac at Rochdale.
So says Bob Nasmith, in this bit from The Toronto Star, regarding The Dream Tower. Life in Rochdale College as performance art 35 years after the fact? I have my doubts, but I'm happy to see any sort of Rochdale spin-off still in play, just because that really was such a strange and emblematic chapter of Trudeau-era Canadian history.
In the meatime, newcomers to Rochdale are advised to seek out Ron Mann's doc by the same title. My own modest (and properly confused) metaphoric summary: if you run Haight Street through Woodstock and Altamont, it will stretch north and end in a cul-de-sac at Rochdale.
Monday, February 27, 2006
Bring me the heads (or tails) of Frank & Gordon
Despite my country's record medal-grab, the significant presence of a Menno from The 'Peg, and undeniably fetching figure skaters, I had a difficult time whipping up interest in this year's Winter Olympics. Three things killed it for me: the time-zone shift (the day I wake up and want to watch television is the day I've been rightfully set out to pasture), the Canadian men's hockey team, and the commercials.
There's nothing you can do about the time-zone, so I'll move directly to Hockey. I think it was a big mistake to let the pros into Olympic hockey. I know the Eastern Block made a mess of things with their nettlesome "Socialist" definitions, but the Curtain is down, and I think we can all agree: when you're employed by the NHL, you're no longer an "amateur". The sort of "Dream Team" competition that erupted in the 90s is a bore no matter who wins gold, and I'd like to see Olympic hockey (and basketball, for that matter) return to its amateur status.
Alright: Commercials. Man, did PETA ever take a blow to the chin with those freakin' beavers from Bell. Leg-holds, piano-wire, boiling oil ... it's all too good those annoying rodents. And this lack of, shall I say, quality only made the brain-numbing quantity of commercials that much more difficult to endure.
I realize the Corp. relies on this deluge of free-market bucks to sustain what programming it can, so I'm almost willing to cut it some slack for the 3-to-2 ratio of commercial-to-event minutes (and no, I don't consider a McDonald's sponsored "Portrait of Courage" an "event"). Sports-loving viewers are subjected to this onslaught of ads, in aid of keeping "Canadian content" alive and well. Alas, "Canadian content" means another Ken Finkleman indulgence, while the truly entertaining stuff (specifically DaVinci's City Hall) gets deep-sixed.
Strangely enough, I'm truly saddened to see DaVinci get the axe. I say "strangely", because it's been years since I was a regular DaVinci watcher. My wife and I were DaVinci fans when it had its original Friday night slot. This suited us just fine: after a week of work we were too bagged to rent and watch a movie, but a one-hour episode was just right to keep us awake and entertained. Then CBC moved it, and lost us. I recently spotted it while channel-surfing, and found myself hooked in after several years absence. Why DaVinci isn't bigger than House, MD, I'll never know (and I say this with all due respect as a Black Adder/Frye & Laurie fan) -- DaVinci has better acting, directing and writing than Hugh Laurie's vechicle. I figure playing fast and loose with scheduling can't possibly help, but maybe I'm simple that way. Open letter to the CBC: why not take a page from the BBC strategy-guide, and give DaVinci more than one time slot. We've already got 24 hours of CSI -- what could it possibly hurt?
There's nothing you can do about the time-zone, so I'll move directly to Hockey. I think it was a big mistake to let the pros into Olympic hockey. I know the Eastern Block made a mess of things with their nettlesome "Socialist" definitions, but the Curtain is down, and I think we can all agree: when you're employed by the NHL, you're no longer an "amateur". The sort of "Dream Team" competition that erupted in the 90s is a bore no matter who wins gold, and I'd like to see Olympic hockey (and basketball, for that matter) return to its amateur status.
Alright: Commercials. Man, did PETA ever take a blow to the chin with those freakin' beavers from Bell. Leg-holds, piano-wire, boiling oil ... it's all too good those annoying rodents. And this lack of, shall I say, quality only made the brain-numbing quantity of commercials that much more difficult to endure.
I realize the Corp. relies on this deluge of free-market bucks to sustain what programming it can, so I'm almost willing to cut it some slack for the 3-to-2 ratio of commercial-to-event minutes (and no, I don't consider a McDonald's sponsored "Portrait of Courage" an "event"). Sports-loving viewers are subjected to this onslaught of ads, in aid of keeping "Canadian content" alive and well. Alas, "Canadian content" means another Ken Finkleman indulgence, while the truly entertaining stuff (specifically DaVinci's City Hall) gets deep-sixed.
Strangely enough, I'm truly saddened to see DaVinci get the axe. I say "strangely", because it's been years since I was a regular DaVinci watcher. My wife and I were DaVinci fans when it had its original Friday night slot. This suited us just fine: after a week of work we were too bagged to rent and watch a movie, but a one-hour episode was just right to keep us awake and entertained. Then CBC moved it, and lost us. I recently spotted it while channel-surfing, and found myself hooked in after several years absence. Why DaVinci isn't bigger than House, MD, I'll never know (and I say this with all due respect as a Black Adder/Frye & Laurie fan) -- DaVinci has better acting, directing and writing than Hugh Laurie's vechicle. I figure playing fast and loose with scheduling can't possibly help, but maybe I'm simple that way. Open letter to the CBC: why not take a page from the BBC strategy-guide, and give DaVinci more than one time slot. We've already got 24 hours of CSI -- what could it possibly hurt?
Friday, February 24, 2006
Friday Frazzlery
It's Friday, and I don't feel like applying myself, so here's some miscellany:
Gaming: seems when it comes to gaming, the critics have the most fun with the James Bond franchise. I've fiddled a bit with some of these offerings, and there are good games and bad games. Critics jumped all over From Russia With Love, but it's not as bad as all that. I enjoyed its sense of play -- its action is clunkier than some of the other 007 games, but I thought it worked within its retro-environment. I think it would have garnered higher praise had it been released before 007: Everything Or Nothing, surely one of the most layered games in the franchise. EON has so many wonderful little nooks and crannies and options to explore, it seems almost impossible to exhaust. Lots of fun, both of them, but I'll keep singing my one-sour-note refrain: gaming animators are a listless, uninspired bunch. Pierce Brosnan and Sean Connery (to say nothing of their sexy eye-candy) get the usual Disney Hall of Presidents treatment, an approach that makes the animated segues either boring or unintentionally comic. C'mon, people: instead of exploring the absolute limits of the form, why not acknowledge them at the outset, and play with expectations? Consumers realize the animation is going to be stiff, so why not surprise them and make it psychedelic and herky-jerky? That's just one option available to you gaming geeks, but consider it -- would you? Heck if you use it, you don't even have to acknowledge your source.
Critic At Large: BookNinja has frequently sung the praises of lit-crit Alex Good, but it's taken me some time to actually tune in and turn on (dropping out is overrated). Good Reports ("Canada's Premiere Independent Book Site"!) is loaded with goodies galore (*ahem*). I whiled away an hour eating up the reviews and articles, and left the site feeling invigorated and ready to write fiction -- an unusual response to criticism, but Good is the sort of critic that makes an ideal reader. Excelsior!
Dennis Danvers: most writers of Speculative Fiction fall into two categories: those who take technology seriously, and those who take human yearning seriously. Dennis Danvers belongs to the latter school, which makes his spec-fic eminently readable. I've been a fan since Circuit of Heaven first came on the scene, and I've just come to the realization that Danvers is one of those writers whose work I seek out because every new novel indicates he's still alive and productive.
It's been three years since The Watch, his latest novel, so I expected to see something new under his name. Quick trip to Amazon, and ... nothing. What did this mean? The Stand was, perhaps, his riskiest work: resurrecting Peter Kropotkin, a Russian anarchist, and placing him in the environs of late-20th Century Richmond, VA was cheerfully provocative, but unlikely to expand his readership in the post-9/11 gloom. Had Danvers despaired, and quit writing?
Not at all. Further googling revealed that the man has simply adopted a nom de plume and given us The Bright Spot, by Robert Sydney. Danvers remains alive and productive -- good news, indeed.
Gaming: seems when it comes to gaming, the critics have the most fun with the James Bond franchise. I've fiddled a bit with some of these offerings, and there are good games and bad games. Critics jumped all over From Russia With Love, but it's not as bad as all that. I enjoyed its sense of play -- its action is clunkier than some of the other 007 games, but I thought it worked within its retro-environment. I think it would have garnered higher praise had it been released before 007: Everything Or Nothing, surely one of the most layered games in the franchise. EON has so many wonderful little nooks and crannies and options to explore, it seems almost impossible to exhaust. Lots of fun, both of them, but I'll keep singing my one-sour-note refrain: gaming animators are a listless, uninspired bunch. Pierce Brosnan and Sean Connery (to say nothing of their sexy eye-candy) get the usual Disney Hall of Presidents treatment, an approach that makes the animated segues either boring or unintentionally comic. C'mon, people: instead of exploring the absolute limits of the form, why not acknowledge them at the outset, and play with expectations? Consumers realize the animation is going to be stiff, so why not surprise them and make it psychedelic and herky-jerky? That's just one option available to you gaming geeks, but consider it -- would you? Heck if you use it, you don't even have to acknowledge your source.
Critic At Large: BookNinja has frequently sung the praises of lit-crit Alex Good, but it's taken me some time to actually tune in and turn on (dropping out is overrated). Good Reports ("Canada's Premiere Independent Book Site"!) is loaded with goodies galore (*ahem*). I whiled away an hour eating up the reviews and articles, and left the site feeling invigorated and ready to write fiction -- an unusual response to criticism, but Good is the sort of critic that makes an ideal reader. Excelsior!
Dennis Danvers: most writers of Speculative Fiction fall into two categories: those who take technology seriously, and those who take human yearning seriously. Dennis Danvers belongs to the latter school, which makes his spec-fic eminently readable. I've been a fan since Circuit of Heaven first came on the scene, and I've just come to the realization that Danvers is one of those writers whose work I seek out because every new novel indicates he's still alive and productive.
It's been three years since The Watch, his latest novel, so I expected to see something new under his name. Quick trip to Amazon, and ... nothing. What did this mean? The Stand was, perhaps, his riskiest work: resurrecting Peter Kropotkin, a Russian anarchist, and placing him in the environs of late-20th Century Richmond, VA was cheerfully provocative, but unlikely to expand his readership in the post-9/11 gloom. Had Danvers despaired, and quit writing?
Not at all. Further googling revealed that the man has simply adopted a nom de plume and given us The Bright Spot, by Robert Sydney. Danvers remains alive and productive -- good news, indeed.
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